Warning: The following post acknowledges the existence of certain body parts and what people do with them. Sensitive readers may wish to redirect now.

The other day I heard in one of my podcasts that right now at the Edinburgh Fringe festival, a play is being presented whose content is taken entirely from the writings of UK based blogs. The producer sifted, he says, through thousands of different blogs looking for suitable content to use in his production. Besides being from the UK, he said he was looking for blogs that were well written and with racy material. The one about a lonely phone-sex worker made the cut, for example.

The Blog of Brian is not UK based, so I wouldn’t have been eligible for the play anyway, but racy you want? Ok. It could be a lot racier if I wanted it to be. Witness the following:

Two nights ago at Wal-Mart I purchased several personal hygiene products that are hard to come by in Korea. They have all been on my USA vacation shopping list for quite some time: Fragrance-free lotion, deodorant, a face scrub I like, and condoms. It’s true you can get condoms in Korea, but they are, shall we say, constrictive. I’m not bragging. Really. The condoms are just very small. By the way, the stereo-type about Asians having small penises is not completely true. It’s mostly true, but not entirely. Asian condom manufacturers don’t seem to know that however. The problem is, when the condom is too tight it cuts off circulation. If you aren’t getting any blood flow, well, it makes it a lot harder to accomplish the thing that you’ve donned a condom for in the first place.

The condom selection was a bit daunting. I haven’t actually purchased many condoms in my day. Usually I would just grab a handful from the men’s room of the local gay bar. They were never more than an after thought, if indeed, they were a thought at all. Here, the main question seemed to be one of knowing what not to get. The ones with ribs or little knobby things don’t make a bit of difference in my world. Also, an early partner of mine advised me never to buy condoms with spermicidal lubricant. It doesn’t taste good apparently. I’ve always just taken him at his word however. I’ve no personal experience on the matter. I finally selected a box of Trojan Ultra Thins and then, after careful consideration, threw in a box of Magnum Extra Large. Honestly, I don’t think I’m so well endowed that I need a condom that large, I just want to see if it makes a difference. It’s more of an experiment really. Really. Stop looking at me like that.

I dropped both boxes into the bottom of my shopping cart and quickly found something to put on top of them. “I’m not embarrassed to be buying condoms,” I told myself. “It’s just a private matter is all.”

My next trial of non-embarrassment came at the check-out line. Which cashier would be the least non-embarrassing to take these to? Aha! The U-scan. Perfect! When I was the next customer in line, the girl overseeing the three self-scan stations called me to her register. The line was getting backed-up, so she offered to check me out herself to keep the line moving. Great. One by one she picked up my items, scanned in the price, and set them down again in my cart, saving the two condom boxes for last. She scanned the Trojans while I pretended to be distracted counting the money in my wallet. She picked up the Magnums and waved the scanner over the bar code. Nothing. My heart froze, but I tried desperately to maintain my outer composure. “If you call for a price check, I’m walking outta here so fast it’ll make your head spin!” I thought with intensity.

While the checkout girl tried different angles to scan the box of extra-large condoms, I glanced quickly at the register behind me to see if anyone else had noticed. There stood a tall, black male in basketball gear helping his girlfriend feed dollar bills into the money accepter. He is the guy they make these for, I thought, ashamed at my penile hubris. In a flash though, I caught myself buying into yet another cultural stereotype, and felt further shame. Unfortunately, his basketball shorts were too loose to permit visual confirmation. Anyway, what was I so worried about? That the checkout girl will know that I have sex? That people will see the condoms and they will think that I think I have a big penis? Oh for fuck sake! Scan, damnit! Beep!

The checkout girl put the condoms back in my cart and totaled my order, seemingly unfazed by the incident. Perhaps she really was unfazed, but I can just imagine how the story went after closing when she was talking to her other coworkers:

“You should have seen this guy in my line today. Extra large condoms! Yeah right! Who does he think he’s fooling? I pulled the, can’t-get-the-item-to-scan routine just to make him nervous. Gets ‘em every time.”